


it's always you

by hatsuna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sappy, bokuto is trying his best, well like an attempt at angst lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatsuna/pseuds/hatsuna
Summary: This was it. This was the conversation.“Bokuto-san,” he began, struggling to choose his words, “where are we going to end up?” He could feel the surprise of his best friend as he tensed beside him. “I mean, it’s only a few more weeks before you graduate and leave.”And leave me behind, toowas left unsaid, but it was implied.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 49
Kudos: 500





	1. spring days, confession haze

**Author's Note:**

> hi! it's literally 4:50 am as i'm writing this but i had the urge to write this idea and i had to finish it today. this is my first bokuakaa fic because i realized i'm literally in love with this ship, and i'm a sucker for confessions in bed while watching a movie lmao. i hope you enjoy <3
> 
> will be three parts, as of now!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> graduation is in a matter of weeks. akaashi has accepted that this is where he says goodbye to his best friend.

Akaashi Keiji was seventeen, but he wished he were older.

Bokuto Koutarou was graduating in a few weeks and had already been scouted to play for a pro volleyball team. In a few weeks, his rambunctious, obnoxious third-year captain would be leaving. In a few weeks, his best friend who loved every little thing unconditionally would be gone. 

Akaashi prided himself on his realism, and this case was no different. He knew that above all else, in a few weeks, whatever it was that had been occurring between him and Bokuto would likely be gone too. And while it pained him to properly acknowledge this, Akaashi knew it shouldn’t. Afterall, Bokuto was pursuing his lifelong dream. The setter could handle the sting of their relationship straining with distance if it meant allowing Bokuto to blossom into the star he was meant to be.

Akaashi couldn’t recall how many times he’d stayed up long after he’d finished his homework, creating fantasies in his mind of how life would be if he were Bokuto’s age. He’d have set for him for three years instead of two, would be saying goodbye to his second years with him, would be cramming for exams with him. When he finally drifted into sleep after hours awake, he always dreamt he’s with Bokuto. 

Dreams always end, though. 

In the grand scheme of the impermanence of life, one year isn’t a large gap. If anything, it’s a mere crevice. But that doesn’t mean it’s an easy fissure to cross. Regardless of how many realities he replayed, Akaashi still wouldn’t be by Bokuto’s side in the only one that mattered.

Akaashi never expected an age gap of one year and a little over two months to cause so much anguish.

The looming threat of his third year commencing wasn’t exactly a nice distraction from Bokuto’s departure either. This would be Akaashi’s first and final year as captain. While Bokuto had insisted that it wouldn’t be much of a step up from vice captain, Akaashi could still feel the weight of responsibility beginning to crush his shoulders when he considered the position of leadership. 

Instinctively, Akaashi winced, closing his eyes under the tangible pressure. He knew confronting his future would keep him alive, but right now, the idea of confrontation was killing him.

The notification of a text pulled Akaashi’s mind back to the present. Seeing Bokuto’s name, the setter felt his cheeks tinge pink, in spite of the fact that the misery he’d just put himself through was centered around the boy. Akaashi supposed he would always associate Bokuto with sunshine, even after spending hours in the rain.

He quickly read the message, then padded downstairs to let Bokuto in. Today was Saturday, their typical hangout day. With Akaashi’s mom and dad often out of town over the weekends for work, the house usually ended up theirs. These days together consisted of Akaashi helping Bokuto with homework, binging volleyball videos on YouTube, the occasional practicing in Akaashi’s backyard, and an excessive amount of junk food.

As he unlocked the door for his teammate, Akaashi thought about how thankful he was that Bokuto had come per usual, even when he, himself, had almost forgotten. With all the changes he’d been mulling over lately, Akaashi needed the stability of routine.

Bokuto entered, backpack slung over his shoulder, a bag of convenience store food raised in his right hand. “Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!”

Akaashi managed to keep his composure while being in the face of such direct sunlight. He let Bokuto grab his elbow and pull him towards the kitchen table, watching amusedly as Bokuto shrugged off his backpack before dumping the plastic bag upside down. The boy smiled proudly at its contents.

“Bokuto-san, if you expect that we’re going to finish all of this today,” Akaashi frowned, gesturing to the plethora of carb-loaded snacks and sugary candy, “you’re worse off than I thought.” He crossed his arms.

“Always so judgemental, ‘Kaashi!”

“Judgemental, maybe. But someone has to keep you in check.”

Bokuto moved to stand behind Akaashi before wrapping his arms around the setter’s small waist. He leaned his chin on Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi inhaled sharply. Bokuto had been far more affectionate the past few months, sitting just a few inches closer to Akaashi when they studied, or resting his hand on the second year’s thigh when they watched movies together on Saturdays like this one.

“You always keep me in check,” Bokuto grinned, tugging Akaashi a little bit closer to him.

Afraid that he’d somehow ruin the mood—if that was what you’d even call it—Akaashi remained still until Bokuto pulled away. The third year reached for a pack of poifull jelly beans. He tore open the package, offering a handful to Akaashi who politely declined, before shoveling them in his own mouth, munching happily.

“Come on, let’s get to studying,” Akaashi sighed, taking the candy from Bokuto’s grasp before he could down all of them and consequently complain about feeling sick afterwards. 

Bokuto stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “I hate studying. Can’t we do something else?”

While Akaashi desperately wanted to preserve Bokuto’s good mood, he also wanted to preserve the latter’s grades. Starting the studying process always required a gentle shove. Akaashi took Bokuto’s wrist in one hand and his backpack in the other, dragging him into the living room, where his own schoolwork was already laid out. Bokuto ruined the neat studying arrangement in a matter of minutes, strewing papers across the tatami mat, but at least the studying had actually started, Akaashi thought to himself.

After two hours of studying, Bokuto’s whining began to really push Akaashi’s buttons. 

“Why do we have to read this? What relevance does it have to the real world?” Bokuto complained. He tapped his pencil against the book forcefully, as if to try and spite it.

“With your reading level, Bokuto-san, I’m surprised you even used the word ‘relevance’ correctly,” Akaashi responded bluntly.

“Hey, hey!” came the offended response. Bokuto playfully swatted Akaashi’s arm, but his hand pulled away more dejectedly than usual.

Akaashi could sense the start of one of Bokuto’s spirals. Dealing with a dejected Bokuto was not on his list of Saturday plans. He racked his brain to find a solution that might keep it at bay. When he decided on one that would hopefully work, he tapped the boy’s shoulder, then tilted his head towards him. “If we finish in the next two hours, we can watch a movie tonight.”

It was as if a light switch had flipped on in Bokuto’s head, because his eyes illuminated upon hearing the words. “Only for you, Akaashi,” he drawled. He began furiously scanning his textbook, pencil poised in his hand, eyebrows knitted together.

Akaashi frowned but didn’t bother to comment on the lack of logic in Bokuto’s response.

All studying was finished in a startling hour and a half, and before he knew it, Bokuto was excitedly stuffing his school supplies into his backpack. He practically chasséd into Akaashi’s room before jumping onto the bed. Akaashi followed him, closing the bedroom door behind him silently and picking up his laptop off his desk before he climbed in next to Bokuto. 

Watching a movie in bed while laying next to his best friend was far more intimate than Akaashi had intended for it to be. There wasn’t much room to put distance between himself and Bokuto, and there was even less room to maneuver to view the film comfortably, so Akaashi ended up laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling about halfway through the movie. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind much though, listening to the gentle lull of Bokuto’s breathing beside him. A pensive mood overtook him and eventually he stopped trying to listen to the dialogue of the film at all. When the credits started to roll, he looked over to see Bokuto pause the movie and shut the computer. Draping his arm over Akaashi, he placed the laptop on the ground beside the bed. Akaashi didn’t miss the way Bokuto’s outstretched arm lingered on his chest a moment too long. He didn’t mind it either. He sighed unapologetically, maybe out of contentment or exasperation, or both.

After what Akaashi knew felt like hours to Bokuto but was really only a minute, the boy blurted, “‘Kaashi, what’s wrong?” 

Akaashi could hear the concern laced in his voice.

This was it. This was the conversation. “Bokuto-san,” he began, struggling to choose his words, “where are we going to end up?” He could feel the surprise of his best friend as he tensed beside him. “I mean, it’s only a few more weeks before you graduate and leave.”

 _And leave me behind, too_ was left unsaid, but it was implied.

“I don’t know,” Bokuto said after a too-long pause. Akaashi didn’t know whether he should have been disappointed in the response.

“But!” Bokuto continued, “I’m-I’m not going to lose you!”

Akaashi felt his cheeks flame again. He clenched his fists beneath the sheets. He had always known this conversation would come, but now that it was here, he didn’t feel ready. He knew confronting his future was what would keep him alive, but the confrontation was killing him. “Bokuto-san, I don’t know if that’s really under your control.”

“I’ll make it under my control,” the third year said so earnestly that Akaashi knew it would only hurt more when the words would inevitably prove to be empty.

“Sure you will, Bokuto-san.” As he was met with stiff silence, Akaashi wondered if he was too curt. The low growl from Bokuto perturbed him. 

“Akaashi, I don’t know why you feel the need to say it like that!” 

Akaashi was used to Bokuto’s outbursts, but not ones like this. He turned to face Bokuto, whose eyes were so livid he was surprised they didn’t scorch him. 

“You make it seem like I don’t care about you, when all I’ve been trying to do for these past few months is show you how much I do!” Bokuto continued, running a hand through his hair, messing up the delicately gelled spikes. 

If Bokuto was infuriated enough to disturb his hair, he was seriously passionate.

“I sit at lunch with you every day, even asking the other club members to eat somewhere else so we can have the roof to ourselves; I come over to your house every weekend for hours; I text you like every day; and… And I just don’t understand how someone so smart can be _so dense!_ ” Bokuto’s breath came out in ragged huffs, eyes still sharp, still piercing Akaashi. But above all else, Bokuto looked tired, Akaashi thought. He could see the emotional exhaustion now, creeping along the creases of his upperclassman's eyes and clinging to the furrow in his brow. So, so tired.

And then everything made sense.

“Or if you’re not dense, you’re just so, so—AGH, I don’t know how to say it!—not caring about every move I’ve been making!” Bokuto finished brusquely. He was panting. Almost immediately he closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, then holding his breath, and then exhaling, and Akaashi knew he was trying to calm himself.

Bokuto’s eyes fluttered open when he felt Akaashi’s lips press against his own, his touch featherlight. The setter kissed just as he was: gentle, and yet unrelentingly supportive. Bokuto closed his eyes as he melted into Akaashi’s touch. Akaashi’s lips were so much softer than Bokuto could have ever imagined. 

But all too soon, Akaashi pulled away. He placed his forehead against Bokuto’s, catching his breath. “Apathetic,” he said so quietly Bokuto wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “Or indifferent, I guess.”

“What?”

“The word you were looking for earlier, the one for not caring,” Akaashi mumbled, eyes trained on Bokuto’s chest, refusing to look up.

Even after the whirlwind of emotions he’d passed through over the last few minutes, Bokuto found himself cracking a grin at Akaashi’s smallest comment. Only Akaashi could ever. “You’re cute, you know that?”

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth turned up slightly, barely even perceptibly, but Bokuto noticed. “So I’ve been told,” he responded, meeting Bokuto’s gaze.

Bokuto was breathless all over again when he looked at Akaashi. He was everything. Hooded sea green eyes, framed by dark lashes. Sharp, petite nose. Plump lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Tentatively, Bokuto leaned in, closing his eyes when he made contact. Kissing Akaashi felt better than any nailed spike. It was better than any victory he’d had in volleyball, or any victory in life, for that matter (if it was even possible to separate the two). Kissing Akaashi was safe. He reached his hand over to card through the boy's messy black curls as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss. Akaashi opened his mouth just the slightest bit, as if he were trying to give a cue. Bokuto accepted the invitation, slowly inserting his tongue into Akaashi’s mouth, hesitantly exploring. Bokuto had anticipated what kissing Akaashi would feel like, though nothing in his head compared to actually kissing him. He hadn’t anticipated the low, raspy moan Akaashi let out when he sucked on his tongue. It was music to his ears—better than any victory on he court. 

He moved his lips off of Akaashi’s, instead ghosting them over the boy’s stained cheeks before moving to pepper kisses across his jawline. He trailed to the end of his jaw and descended down his neck. He kissed the skin above Akaashi’s collarbone repeatedly before he pulled away again to look up at the boy. Akaashi’s lips were pink and pouted as he gazed down at Bokuto. Bokuto swallowed. “Am I allowed to, uhm, you know, make a mark?” he asked, suddenly shy. 

Akaashi nodded with a tiny half-smile. The boy winced when he felt teeth nip at his skin, but elicited a quiet moan when he felt Bokuto’s tongue smoothing over the bite. He tried not squirm when Bokuto sucked on the bruised skin.

After awhile, Bokuto kissed his way back up to Akaashi’s face, then cupped his cheeks with both hands. With the utmost care, he planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead. “You’re perfect,” he murmured into Akaashi’s skin. 

“I wish I could have set for you longer, Bokuto-san.”

Bewildered, Bokuto scooted back from Akaashi, then pulled him onto his side to face him. He studied the boy in front of him. “So you’re telling me that I just had the hottest make out session of my life, and you’re thinking about volleyball?”

Akaashi giggled. “Roles seem kind of switched, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto sighed, leaning in to kiss Akaashi again. After only a few seconds, he pulled back. “Why do you wish you could have set for me longer?”

Akaashi wondered if Bokuto knew that the rouge of his cheeks was now from guilt. “It’s selfish, really,” he laughing shakily. “I guess I just wish I could have had you a bit longer. Because now you’re all grown up.” Akaashi reached out and pinched Bokuto’s cheek. “And you’re leaving me behind.” He played with his fingers for a moment. “I’m not good enough to get to the stage you’re ascending to, Bokuto-san. And I’ll never improve at your rapid rate. So I guess I wish I could have had one more year with you in high school, setting for you when I still could keep up.” 

Only now did Akaashi realize that this was the real conversation he’d dreaded—the confession of his own insecurities and fears. Embarrassed, he buried his head in Bokuto’s chest. 

A strong pair of arms wrapped around Akaashi’s small frame, hugging him tightly. “These past two years with you have been incredible. And I know you don’t believe me now, and I don’t know if you ever will, but it’s you.” He blushed. “It’ll always be you, Keiji.”

Akaashi poked his head out to press a kiss to Bokuto’s jaw. “Okay, Kou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't let this flop i've never written any dramatic kiss scenes so i'm v nervous :( thank you again for reading! also poifull are the only valid jelly beans, rt if you agree


	2. nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akaashi keiji takes on college life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild panic attack in this chapter! if you want to skip that, it stop reading at _The tingling that had begun in Akaashi’s stomach overtook his entire body, presenting itself as trembling_. skip until _“Woah, Akaashi, you good?”_

Akaashi Keiji was nineteen, and he had somehow managed to become more exhausted.

Captaining the volleyball team his third year of high school hadn’t been easy, but compared to the slap in the face that was college, it had been a mere tap on the wrist. Long gone were Akaashi’s high school days, filled with daily guffaws, inside jokes, and seemingly infinite time. There was no more smoothing out his uniform before he walked to school, no more neatly-packed bentos from his mother, no more lunches on the rooftop with his best friends. Homework piled higher, exams counted for more, and somehow, the pressure to excel was even greater.

While Akaashi was by no means a bad student, he’d expected college to be a get away, the detachment from his parents detaching him from their expectant gazes. Instead, he’d found college to be filled with a hell of a lot more anxiety. The physical distance between Akaashi in Kyoto and his parents in Yokohama was freeing, but that didn’t negate the fact that it was terrifying. On the one hand, being a train ride away meant they weren’t constantly checking up on him, especially after he’d assured them they need not call him every night. But being far away meant that if he fucked up, he was on his own. And in the event of a fuck up, his parents would definitely find out.

The constant in Akaashi’s life was his best friend. Bokuto Koutarou was now playing for the MSBY Black Jackal, a pro volleyball team located in Tokyo, a few hours away from Akaashi. While Bokuto had never given Akaashi a proper pink-letter, heart-shaped-chocolates kind of confession, they’d both agreed to date a few weeks before Bokuto had graduated high school. Dating had been awkward at first, like breaking in a new pair of shoes, but eventually Akaashi got used to the affection, used to the late-night phone calls, used to the dozens of text notifications.

In retrospect, Akaashi was amazed it had taken him so long to discover his captain’s mutual feelings for him. Bokuto hadn’t exactly been subtle when they were in high school, sneaking lingering touches and turning beet red when Akaashi started to return them. After they’d started dating, Bokuto never failed to express his love for Akaashi as he expressed everything else in life—loudly, passionately. But unlike everything else, when Bokuto talked about Akaashi, it was always with purpose, with absolute adoration.

Since Akaashi had started university, the two would meet up on the blue moon days when neither of them had scheduling conflicts, in towns about halfway between their respective cities. They’d spend the day exploring local cafés, snacking too much, and catching up on everything that needed to be said in person, every event that couldn’t be justified with a phone call. They’d part late in the evening, or on the occasion, splurge on a hotel room. Akaashi preferred staying the night. Waking up in Bokuto’s strong arms, sunlight straining through the cheap hotel curtains, was undeniably one of the best things in the world.

But even though he knew he was loved, Akaashi’s doubt often got the best of him, diffidence morphing into pervasive thoughts. He’d still awake in the middle of the night sweating, blood surging in his ears, thinking his entire relationship with Bokuto had been a dream. Taking his phone in shaking hands, he’d send a text to his boyfriend.

_To: bokuto koutarou  
From: akaashi keiji  
[1:14 am]  
this is real, right?_

Bokuto had been confused when Akaashi had first texted him the words, asking way too many questions too bluntly and making Akaashi feel foolish for needing the reassurance in the first place. But by probably their third month together, Bokuto was used to Akaashi’s texts.

_To: akaashi keiji  
From: bokuto koutarou  
[1:21 am]  
always._

Overall, college was a drag, but there were a few things Akaashi would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate. The biggest one of these was Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto’s best friend who also attended Kyoto University. Kuroo had chosen to study biochemistry over going pro, which Bokuto constantly teased him for, but Akaashi rather respected. He’d generously offered to let Akaashi room with him, which was a blessing since Akaashi had been dreading having to live with a complete stranger. Being around Kuroo was comfortable, since Akaashi had hung out in a trio with him and Bokuto dozens of times back in high school. There had been no effort needed to build a bridge; one had always been there. 

Akaashi could confidently say his roommate was one of the things that had kept him sane through his freshman year. The sophomore had given him advice on meeting with professors, curing bad hangovers, and managing his fears about drifting from Bokuto. ( _“Irrational, Akaashi. I don’t know why your brain always goes to that, man.”_ ). 

In short, pressure was still surmounting in college. Life didn’t stop when Akaashi no longer saw his best friend every day. He still met new people, still pursued old relationships, and still felt the weight of responsibility crushing him.

It was their typical call time, close to eight pm, when Akaashi picked up his ringing phone.

“Hi, Bokuto-san,” he said as he closed his laptop. He stood up, rolling out his ankles before he began to walk the perimeter of the dorm room, as he always did when they called. Kuroo studied in the library at this time of night, so Akaashi had no need to be self-conscious about his pacing, though he knew his roommate wouldn’t have cared less had he been there.

“Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!” came the boisterous reply from the other end. “How was school today?”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “You sound like a mother when you ask like that. But it was fine, same as always.”

Laughter from Bokuto. It filled Akaashi’s insides with sunlight and something that felt a lot like love. 

“That’s good, I guess,” said Bokuto. 

“How about you? I saw your match on TV earlier today. You played well.” 

Akaashi tried to watch all of Bokuto’s matches because he always heard his boyfriend’s firsthand analysis on the plays, and having a visual to place to words made the conversation easier to follow.

“Thanks! I’m still frustrated we won by so little though…” And just like that, Bokuto began his dissection of the match, starting with the first set. Akaashi commented when he felt it was necessary, but for the most part he was quiet, listening to the man on the other end gush about volleyball. He could listen to him talk for hours, and he often did just that. The steady flow of words was cut off by Bokuto wincing loudly. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Bokuto choked out, and Akaashi could tell he was trying not voice his discomfort. “It’s just my knee.”

Akaashi hummed thoughtfully. “I saw you land on it a little hard during that last spike in the match. I hope you’re elevating it right now.”

“Got it, Nurse Keiji.”

Akaashi could picture Bokuto’s salute. There was a loud rustling on the other end of the line, a plop of presumably an ice pack, and then a contented sigh. 

“Yeah, it’s been hurting a bit for awhile now, but it shouldn’t be something a little ice can’t fix,” Bokuto continued. 

Akaashi heard shifting on the other end of the line. Another low groan. 

“What if you get seriously injured?”

“I won’t!” came the quick reply, the enthusiasm a painfully obvious cover. 

“You better not,” Akaashi nodded. 

It was quiet. Akaashi could have started on another topic, which was probably what Bokuto was hoping would happen. But safety was important for an athlete. And while Bokuto was normally stubborn, Akaashi could be obstinate too.

“Bokuto-san, if you’re hurting, you should really tell your coach." 

“I can’t afford to tell coach,” Bokuto said lamentingly. “If I want to keep my spot in the starting line up, I have to be in my best condition—no, better than best condition.” Akaashi didn’t miss the bitter spark in his voice. He was treading in dangerous waters, but he wanted Bokuto safe above all else. 

“How can you be in your best condition if you’re practicing on an injured leg?” Akaashi retorted, letting himself sound accusatory. He was well aware that Bokuto’s passion for volleyball surpassed all else, often causing him to throw logic out the window, but this was plain idiotic. Softer, Akaashi said, “You have to rest, Kou.”

“How can I keep improving if I’m resting?” Bokuto huffed, irritation growing.

“Maybe it’s not just about improvement,” Akaashi said, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, too.”

“What do you mean it’s not just about improvement? Volleyball is _all_ about improvement!”

“ _Life_ is all about improvement-”

“Is there really a difference between the two?”

There it was, nestled within the shaky conviction—Akaashi’s greatest fear. The fear that maybe he’d always been second to volleyball when it came to Bokuto Koutarou, that he always would be. Akaashi inhaled, closed his eyes, exhaled. Willed his breathing to stay steady. Willed his voice not to crack. “Life is all about improvement, “ he repeated, “and part of that is knowing when to take a break.”

Bokuto’s voice was hushed, but the hostility in it was more apparent. “If I take a break now, when things are finally looking up, it would have all been for nothing.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been.”

“Yes, it would have.”

“No, it wouldn’t have.”

“It would have meant nothing!” Bokuto shouted, and Akaashi cringed away from his phone at the sheer volume.

“It meant something,” he started, but he knew it was too late. The aggressive shift had occurred, and it wouldn’t end until Bokuto deemed it would.

“All the mistakes I made in middle school, all the training camps, all the cold mornings walking to practices, all the flubbed receives, all the bruises, all the money spent on gear, all the hours in the gym hitting your tosses... It all must have meant nothing, right?”

“It meant-"

“All the time I spent with you meant nothing!”

Akaashi flinched. The comment cut through him like a blade through snow, leaving a perfectly precise slash across his heart.

“Keiji, I- I didn’t mean it like that.”

Everytime Bokuto’s mood deteriorated, Akaashi was the one to pick up the pieces. He’d always be on the lookout for telltale signs of dejection, and when he saw them, he’d sort out a course of action to prevent or reverse spiraling. He’d help Bokuto regain his confidence, or work through his frustrations, or patiently just sit with him, so that he wouldn’t be wading in the dark thoughts alone. 

Akaashi wasn’t the emotional one. He didn’t have time to be, not when he had to be the strong one, the calm one. This was a given; he’d been fulfilling the position since his freshman year of high school. But for the first time in his life, he paused to consider why he, himself, wasn’t allowed to lose control.

“I think you meant exactly what you said, Bokuto-san,” he hissed, indignation fueling the fire in his belly. “I’ve tried to ignore it for years, but I guess the truth finally came out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that I’ll always be second to volleyball when it comes to you! I thought after knowing you for four years, and especially after this past year, that things would finally be different. Maybe I’d finally be first, or at least be on an equal level. I guess old habits die hard though,” he muttered. “But honest to god, I thought I could live like that, too! But I can’t, Koutarou. It hurts too much, being second.” The words felt like slime as they rolled off his tongue. Akaashi felt dizzy from the confession.

The line was quiet. He briefly wondered if Bokuto had walked away, just left his phone lying on his desk and headed out. The only indication that the man was still listening was when the lull of breathing on the other end quickened.

“Bullshit,” Bokuto spat.

“Excuse me?”

“I said bullshit! You don’t lose to volleyball in my eyes, and you know it. The only thing that ever beats you is your own insecurity, which you’re projecting right now.”

Akaashi’s fingertips began to tingle. He chose to lay down on his bed before his body could choose to for him. He roughly set his phone beside his pillow. 

“You can’t even trust me, Keiji..” 

Among the vexation, Akaashi thought he could hear the heartache in Bokuto’s voice. It caused heat to burn behind his eyelids and he struggled to keep them open.

“...Why else would you always text me in the middle of the night, asking if we’re real?”

Akaashi’s throat felt like it had been clawed at. He whispered, “I should have known this wouldn’t work.”

“This _is_ working out,” Bokuto sibilated. “You’re just not, because you’re scared!”

“And what would I be scared of?” Akaashi replied, the pulsing within him dangerously close to becoming trembling.

“You tell me, ‘Kaashi.”

The tingling that had begun in Akaashi’s stomach overtook his entire body, presenting itself as full-blown tremors. His heart was pounding out of his chest, pain flourishing, as though someone had grabbed him by his shirt and started pummeling him. Is this a panic attack? Can you have a panic attack without panic disorder? His mind was racing, electricity jolting through him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he short circuited. 

“Keiji, are you all right?”

Akaashi used his last reserve of energy, the rest having been depleted in an instant. “G-goodbye, Bokuto-san. Take care of yourself.”

He wondered if Bokuto had even heard him through his ragged breathing.

Akaashi somehow managed to end the call with his fumbling hand. He was thankful he’d taken the initiative to lay down earlier, because now, his entire body felt numb. Social interaction was difficult, but it shouldn’t have been to that extent, and it was never like that when it was with Bokuto. The cogs in Akaashi’s brain were beginning to still, the rapid neuron firing slowing down. His bed felt more comfortable than usual as he felt himself sink into it, though he assumed he could have fallen asleep anywhere in his state. His eyelids were drooping.

When the door to his dorm room flew open, Akaashi’s breathing sped up again, and weakly he clutched at his chest. Kuroo, who had walked in with his nose buried in a textbook, caught the action in his periphery. The book clattered to the ground.

“Woah, Akaashi, you good?” Kuroo took a seat on the side of Akaashi’s bed and put his hand up to his forehead. “Dude, you’re sweating like crazy. Did something happen?” He paused to laugh. “I know you’re shaky with the door sometimes, but this seems a little excessive for you.”

“I, I think I just had a panic attack,” Akaashi stuttered.

“Oh, shit.” 

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Eventually, Kuroo, unsure of what to do but wanting to break the tension, sat Akaashi up and eased him into an embrace. It was awkward and forced, with neither of them normally being affectionate, but it was what Akaashi needed. The tears that rolled down his face were uncontrollable. He felt Kuroo shudder as sobs wracked his body.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Kuroo asked, chin resting on Akaashi’s shoulder.

Akaashi hugged his friend for a beat longer before he laid back down. “I think I just need to sleep it off. Thank you, Kuroo-san.”

“No problem.”

Kuroo stood up, tugged a comforter over his roommate, and picked up his forgotten textbook. When he was already seated at his desk and settled into his studying groove, he heard Akaashi’s voice, so faint that if he’d been turning the page of a textbook, he would have surely missed it. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi mumbled. “Don’t tell Bokuto-san.”

Kuroo offered a wordless nod.

Akaashi had expected things to mend themselves. Whenever he and Bokuto faced a breach in their relationship, his boyfriend was always the one to give in and apologize. Akaashi would follow suit. Considering how stubborn Bokuto was, it was strange that he’d almost always, without fail, bend first, but Akaashi appreciated it nonetheless. He wasn’t a fan of direct confrontation, and was fortunate enough to almost always avoid it because of their apology dynamic.

It was different this time. When Bokuto didn’t text him the next day, Akaashi thought he was trying to avoid rubbing salt in the wound. When Bokuto didn’t text him the week after, Akaashi thought he was still being considerate. When Bokuto didn’t text him the next month either, Akaashi didn’t know what to think. Had he forgotten about their fight? No, that was impossible, because how could he have managed to forget about Akaashi along with it? 

One month became two months.

Akaashi knew that he should have reached out and called Bokuto like a normal person, should have taken the reins in their relationship for once, but he couldn’t. His thumb would hover over Bokuto’s number in his contacts, but he’d always end up scrolling past it, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room.

Two months became three months. 

As time went on, it became increasingly easier for Akaashi to convince himself that he was doing the right thing by not contacting Bokuto. After all, the man was a professional athlete. He needed his focus to be on his sport. Akaashi had previously upbraided Bokuto for his overzealous commitment to volleyball, but his opinion had changed as the time since their fallout accumulated. (He tried to believe it had changed, because it made it easier.) Now, Akaashi hoped that Bokuto was truly devoting himself to playing. A distraction—like an apology, or an extended hand—would be nothing but detrimental to the man’s career. 

Bokuto should be embracing the newfound freedom that came with being single. 

So Akaashi gritted his teeth, smiled too brightly at Kuroo when Bokuto’s name came up, and pretended that he didn’t wish it was he, himself, who was being embraced.

Three months became four months.

Akaashi recited this mantra of Bokuto’s new freedom over and over again, building the walls up between he and his best friend by the day. He thought he’d convinced himself that he was fine alone, but deep down, he knew the truth. When Akaashi was lonely, he still scanned through his camera roll for stolen selfies Bokuto had taken, and still stalked his best friend's social media, and still read through their old text conversations from high school. He still felt like Bokuto was a keystone in his life, when in reality, he shouldn’t have been more than an ornament, hung as a reminder of the past.

And, while the possibility of this was often ignored, it was the only reasonable explanation as to why Akaashi was lying on his bed on the eve of his twentieth birthday, scrolling through his messages with Bokuto. He should have been out with his friends singing bad karaoke or getting drunk (legally, now). At the very least, he should have been out treating himself to a nice meal. Instead, nostalgia of celebrating Bokuto’s twentieth birthday had overwhelmed him, and he’d found himself recounting the evening. 

It was the only time Akaashi had traveled all the way back to Tokyo, but the hole burned in his wallet had been worth it, if only for the smile that had graced Bokuto’s face when he opened his apartment door to see Akaashi holding a hand-made banner with happy birthday, koutarou scrawled across it. The two had played volleyball all afternoon, stuffed themselves sick with yakiniku for dinner, and then rented a movie to finish off the day, though they didn’t make it very far into the film before Bokuto was tugging off Akaashi’s shirt and pushing him onto the bed.

Akaashi felt his cheeks heat up and stopped himself before the memory went any further. Thinking about his old relationship with Bokuto would cause him nothing but grief. They couldn’t be the way they used to. 

In the blink of an eye, four months had become eight months.

The clock now read 11:58 PM. Akaashi plugged in his earbuds, hoping the music would drown out the sudden sorrow that had replaced the bittersweet memory. He closed his eyes.

A text notification caused him to open them again.

_To: akaashi keiji  
From: bokuto koutarou  
[12:00 am]  
happy birthday akaashi_

Akaashi smiled in spite of himself. He tried to ignore the tear that rolled down his face when he realized Bokuto had addressed him by his last name.

Akaashi Keiji was twenty, and he missed his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i made akaashi attend kyoto university what about it. also i have no idea where the msby black jackals are actually located in the manga but oh well.
> 
> sorry for the little angst, guys :( it will get better! i think you can see my personal projection onto both of the characters during their argument lol
> 
> and as always, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this second chapter. wasn't sure whether i wanted to continue after the first, but i had the urge to since i had some spare time on my hands over this past week!
> 
> oh, and note: i've never had a panic attack. i've been with someone when they've had one though, and i tried to do a little research on them, so that is what my description was based on! hope it was okay...
> 
> take care of yourselves! drink some water!


	3. haunting and beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been three years, but bokuto still thinks about those sea green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah! hi guys! i'm so sorry for the wait for this final update! i've been super busy with studying for finals (they're next week, wish me luck!) and practice that i've barely made the time to write. but at some point in the midst of my schoolwork i decided to reward myself by writing a little bit, and then this happened. i hope you enjoy the final chapter!
> 
> also, i apologize if the formatting is hard to read! i still suck at doing the whole html thing and i tried tweaking it for like ten minutes and it just wasn't formatting how i wanted it to :( and heads up, a lot of this is bokuto's pov! i don't really know why; it kind of just happened as i was writing

Bokuto Koutarou was twenty-four, but he still felt like he was the eighteen year-old ace for Fukurodani, especially in moments like these leading up to a match.

“Bokuto!”

Bokuto Koutarou turned his head at the piercing call to meet the sight of none other than Hinata Shouyou. The redhead bounced over, shaking with so much excitement it looked like he was doing jazz hands.

“Hey, Hinata!” Bokuto matched Hinata’s energy, raising his hand for a high five. The man gleefully returned it.

“Can you believe we get to play again? I know we’re going to crush the other team!” Hinata exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. His eyes were filled with fire. 

Bokuto pumped his own fist in response. Whenever they played, Hinata would always remark how lucky he was to be able to play “again.” It was such subtle glimmers of gratitude that reminded Bokuto of how much he, himself, loved playing, and how much he appreciated his goofy teammate. 

“I wonder why you’re so excited about playing this team in particular,” Bokuto said coyly.

Hinata’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Disbelievingly, Bokuto tugged Hinata into a side hug. He ruffled his hair playfully until the redhead inevitably starting jumping again, wiggling out of Bokuto’s grasp.

A hand came down roughly on Hinata’s shoulder, impeding on his springing. “You’re going to get yourself sick with all that jumping,” Atsumu quipped. He shook his head to front disapprovement, but the small grin on his face betrayed his act.

Hinata still became defensive as always, spluttering in protest, but his retorts quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Atsumu only laughed in response, slapping Hinata’s back, causing him to cough more.

“You’re going to get _me_ sick with all that coughing.”

Sakusa’s voice was muffled through his mask, but the team was accustomed to it by now. His eyes narrowed at Hinata, whose mouth was still tucked in the corner of his elbow. 

Hinata dropped his arm but raised it within a matter of seconds to point an accusatory finger. “You’d stop getting sick if you didn’t wear that mask all the time!” 

“Yeah, your immune system just isn’t built up, Sakusa!” Atusmu added, sending a wink towards Hinata.

“That… that doesn’t even make sense.” A scowl settled on Sakusa’s face. He tucked a wavy lock of hair behind his ear before walking into the locker room.

Hinata’s eyes flashed, threatening to give a final crack, but he only scrunched his nose when Atsumu tugged on the sleeve of his jersey. They followed the man into the locker room.

Bokuto smiled fondly at the interaction. This was just their dynamic. While Sakusa came off cold, he was sure to be hot on the court. He would be there for the team, as he always was, even if it felt he was aloof when they spoke. The idea shot of a volt of energy through Bokuto’s body and he remembered the impending match. He stumbled into the locker room after the others. “Wait, guys, wait for me!”

While Bokuto liked to consider himself crazy when it came to volleyball, Hinata was arguably fanatic. Having trained with him once in awhile in high school, Bokuto knew the spiker had raw talent. But anyone who’d witnessed Hinata’s journey knew that it was dedication that had fanned the flames of his success. Pure, bleeding passion. Hinata’s love for volleyball truly had no match. It was admirable, really.

Bokuto glanced over to where the redhead was now leaning against the locker room wall, phone pulled close to his face. He was giggling to himself and blushing as he read his screen.

 _Hinata’s love for volleyball has no match—except for maybe his love for the opposing team’s setter_ , Bokuto thought cheekily.

Hinata’s eyes darted around the room. Upon ensuring his teammates were all busy (Bokuto fumbled with his knee pads lazily), he started typing back furiously. Bokuto could imagine Kageyama somewhere else in the building reading the message, desperately willing the color in his cheeks to vanish.

He sighed. Young love truly was something special. 

A pair of sea green eyes dashed through his mind. They were glowing, maybe out of contentment, or exasperation, or both. 

Bokuto shook his head, disappointed his psyche had brought the man up yet again. It had been three years since he’d last seen Akaashi. Three years since Akaashi had hung up breathlessly. Three years since he never received a reply to the birthday text he sent. 

In a way, time was lovely, for it bestowed the gift of memory—memory of loving others. But it was also cruel, because the weight of consciousness it left was shattering. 

“Bokuto!” called Atsumu, a hand on his hip as he stood in the doorway. “We gotta go now, man. It’s showtime.” He flashed a grin.

Bokuto perked up at that. There was no time for moping when he was about to play. “All right!”

Playing against a genius on any division one team wasn’t exactly an easy feat. But playing against Kageyama Tobio on the Schweiden Adlers took the term “difficult” to a whole new level. _Damn, Kageyama sets that ball fast_ , Bokuto thought as Ushijima smashed another spike right through their defense. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling.

Hinata’s ire, on the other hand, was boiling. Bokuto couldn’t blame him. The redhead had been trying to catch up to Kageyama since middle school, apparently. When they both ended up at Karasuno High School, their rivalry only intensified. Now, at the professional level, he finally had the opportunity to show Kageyama what he was made of. While Hinata loved his boyfriend, it was undeniable that his jealousy, pride, and admiration had festered into an intransigent desire to win. 

The redhead slammed the ball down. His smile was ravacious, and the tinder in him only seemed to catch when he caught the glare of Kageyama. Neither team was giving up. 

Bokuto tugged at the neck of his jersey, fanning the material in an attempt to cool himself. The heat was stifling and it was only the third set. His legs ached. The fluorescent lights were too bright. His jersey clung to him with sweat. As miserable as the circumstances seemed, Bokuto lived for this atmosphere. He craved the raw zeal of the match, the mechanical focus of all players on the court. It was the closest thing to freedom one could get.

Innate sense took over, and Bokuto knew Atusmu was going to set to him. As he launched into the air, it were as though he could feel the wings on his back unfurling. A pinpoint of light twinkled behind the blockers on the other side of the net—the perfect cut shot.

Bokuto’s legs ached. The lights were too bright. He was drenched in sweat. But none of that mattered, not when he was flying. The power of volleyball, of dedication in general, is the power to be completely lost in the moment. 

The ball hit the ground with insurmountable force. The Jackals took the set.

Waves of anxiety were radiating off of Hinata. It was his turn to serve, and while he had improved tremendously since his high school days of random trajectory balls, he still doubted himself. Serving was the only time he was solely responsible for a point, the only time he was alone in a match. Knowing Kageyama was watching also made him feel sick to stomach, though he knew he shouldn’t have. 

Hinata hesitated. They were at match point. They could win in a matter of seconds, but they could also lose in a matter of seconds. The course the team would take was based off of his serve.

“Hey, hey, Hinata!”

Hinata flinched at the sound of his name, turning to see Bokuto giving him a discreet thumbs up. 

“You know what to do, man. You always do!” Bokuto’s tone was overwhelmingly earnest. He flashed a crooked grin.

The words sunk in. Hinata nodded, almost as if he were in trance, but it seemed to one of concentration rather than anxiety. He took a quick breath before tossing the ball into the air and hitting a vehement jump serve.

The ball was received, but the dig sent the ball back over the net to the Jackals. 

“Chance ball!” Atsumu shouted. 

It’s interesting, Bokuto mused, how time seemed to slow down amidst such a fast-paced game. The ball seemed to hover right over Atsumu as he outstretched his fingers to set it. Bokuto was launching in the air instinctually, but he knew the ball was going to Sakusa. Sakusa, level headed despite his fatigue, spiked the ball perfectly. The reverb of the ball smacking the floor sounded like a clap of thunder. It was the preface for the roars of Bokuto’s team that followed. 

“Alright!” Bokuto bellowed.

“Nice job, Sakusa, Atsumu!”

The team’s rejoicing faded as Bokuto noticed Hinata was quiet, motionless since he’d landed his decoy jump. He was staring at right hand, tilting it back and forth. Slowly, he clenched it into a fist, then raised it to the sky. “We won!” He let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

The man’s eyes shot open quickly, however, as he seemed to register what the real victory was. He looked at Kageyama through the net. Hinata held his fist out, expectantly.

Kageyama returned the gesture, the smallest smile replacing the stoic expression he’d worn throughout the game. “You did it, boke.” There was no malice in his voice.

“I did it,” Hinata breathed.

Bokuto couldn’t help but watch his kouhai. They’d come far from the bumbling idiots they’d been for far too long. High school training camp with the two had always been entertaining. Hinata’s raw power and unrefined technique coupled with Kageyama’s natural prowess and strategic thinking were truly a spectacle, even if they often screwed up in the beginning. 

_“You have to trust me,”_ Bokuto remembered hearing Hinata plead to Kageyama after a failed quick their first year.

Kageyama had curled his lip in what Bokuto used to consider genuine dissatisfaction, but in retrospect was probably just an unwillingness to show affection. _“I am trusting you, boke!”_ Kageyama had stood up taller. _“Besides, you shouldn’t be stressing. As long as I’m with you, you’re invincible.”_

Bokuto remembered frowning at the words. He had looked to his own setter and pouted, _“‘Kaashi, Why can’t we say something cool like that?”_

Akaashi had twiddled his fingers, surely thinking about his words. _”Bokuto-san, Kageyama-san is much more talented than me. I don’t know if I deserve to say something like that.”_ Akaashi hadn’t sounded sad, or jealous, or disappointed. He’d been blunt and collected, as always.

Bokuto had draped an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, then told him, _“What does that matter? Your tosses are still the best, Akaashi!”_

Akaashi had raised his eyebrows as if to nonverbally question him, but leaned ever so slightly into Bokuto. It had been enough.

Bokuto wouldn’t call himself a dramatic, but he did think there was something oddly haunting and beautiful about sadness. It was mesmerizing to wade through his memories with Akaashi. He marveled at how the thought of one person could make him feel so happy and yet so lonely, and keep him captivated for minutes on end. 

He hadn’t realized how strongly he was reminiscing until Sakusa called to him. “Come on, let’s line up.”

As the team bowed, the reality of their win seemed to set in. The elation that returned this time was grounded, the initial surprise having chipped away. Accompanied by it was pride, the type that was unique to having given it your all and seen the results. This, Bokuto thought, was the best kind of joy. It made him feel like he was walking on clouds. The edges of his vision fuzzed with felicity as he meandered over to the bench to pick up his water bottle.

The cheers of spectators warmed his heart, and he decided he’d better flash them a smile. Bokuto looked into the stands, still consumed by soul-crushing victory, and almost dropped his water. 

Sea green. Standing right behind the front rail was a man with piercing green eyes.

Bokuto shook his head, taking a long swig of water. The energy of the match had gotten to him. When the mise en scéne around him unblurred, he flitted his eyes back to where he thought he’d seen that calm, collected gaze. It was gone.

 _Of course he isn’t there_ , Bokuto’s chided himself. _Why would he be here after two years of silence?_

He walked back towards the locker room. 

The rain came down in sheets outside. It was late when a drenched Bokuto, poorly shielded by his travel-sized umbrella, arrived at his apartment. He felt dizzy and fulfilled. They’d gone out for an unofficial team dinner, stuffing themselves with crispy tempura and drinking too much. Hinata had somehow wrenched Kageyama away from his own team, and it was amusing to watch the two argue loud enough to draw looks from the waitstaff. The mindless bantering had been the perfect end to a stressful, rewarding day. 

Bokuto fumbled with his keys, toeing his shoes off in the genkan. His quads were sore, the ache making itself known again now that he was no longer thinking about food. He stumbled towards the bathroom, resisting the urge to clock out right then and there when he caught his bed in his periphery. It would be so nice to collapse on his mattress, burrow under the covers, and finally get some well-earned-

_Holy shit._

There was a person sleeping in his bed. 

Bokuto rubbed his eyes to make sure the exhaustion hadn’t caught up to him. The raised blankets in the vague form of a person remained. Carefully, Bokuto closed the bathroom door, shutting himself inside. He clutched the sink, trying to calm his breathing. What does one do when there’s an intruder in their home? Defend themself? Bokuto desperately searched the bathroom for an item that could possibly be used as a potential weapon. He settled on the blow-dryer sticking out of a drawer.

Knowing he’d end up sleeping in the bathtub if he didn’t act now, Bokuto willed himself to step out of the bathroom. It was his apartment after all, right? Plus, what were the odds the intruder was actually armed or dangerous? Bokuto had heard stories from flatmates about accidentally going to the wrong apartment when they were drunk. That was possible, right? He tried to ignore the fact that he was almost positive he’d locked his door when he’d left in the morning.

Bokuto shut the door languidly, yelping at the squeak it made, and then jerking his head to see if he’d awoken the stranger. The figure remained sleeping peacefully. 

He forced himself to slink closer to the bed, stepping so slowly that even he, himself, knew he was stalling. Regardless, the small square footage of Bokuto’s bedroom caught up to his tiny movements, and soon he was right next to the bed. He raised the makeshift weapon above his head, braced his arms, and prepared to hit. 

He lowered the blow-dryer when he heard a deep exhale from the sleeping figure. It was soft but controlled, maybe content but maybe exasperated. Somehow, it carried a sense of familiarity. A haunting sense of familiarity. 

Bokuto was stunned. It felt like minutes that he stood beside the bed, shoulders loose and blow-dryer hanging by his side, the words having been stolen from his mouth. Finally, after the feeling of being a creep in his own apartment overtook him, Bokuto managed to speak. “Akaashi? Is that you?”

At the sound of his name, the figure shifted. Groggily, he peaked up, leaving all but a pair of emerald eyes under the covers. “Oh, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi seemed like was going to say more but he paused, quirking a brow when he saw the blow-dryer in Bokuto’s hand.

Sheepishly, Bokuto, set it on the nightstand. He returned to his senses. “What, what are you doing here, Akaashi?”

Akaashi tugged the covers down his face. “Kuroo-san told me where you kept your spare key.”

_Damn that Kuroo. He would do something like this._

“I’m sorry for showing up without warning. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Akaashi looked almost guilty.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bokuto interjected, far too quickly for not having spoken to the man in three years. “I just meant why did you come back? Why now?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on your win today,” Akaashisaid matter-of-factly.

Bokuto’s head was spinning. “But your university is hours away. You couldn’t have even known-”

“I knew you’d win.” Akaashi’s tone was gentle, yet unrelentingly supportive.

Bokuto sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

“Me neither.” 

“I said so many hurtful things,” he started, “and then I just let you slip through my fingertips.” Bokuto flushed at how lame he must have sounded.

Akaashi didn’t seem to mind. “We both said hurtful things.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“I never hated you.” Akaashi didn’t sound disappointed, just tired. 

Tired was good. Bokuto could work with tired.

“Then,” he said hesitantly bringing a hand up to trace Akaashi’s jaw, “are you still hurting?”

Akaashi closed his eyes at the motion, but didn’t lean away from Bokuto’s touch. He kept his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling for what felt like an eternity. “I think there will always be a part of me that hurts,” he offered.

“So why are you here then?” There was no anger in Bokuto’s question, only confusion, and maybe longing.

“Because I think I realized there’s a bigger part of me that will always love you.”

For once, Akaashi didn’t cover his face at the confession of affection. He made direct eye contact with the man sitting beside him whose apartment he’d just broken into.

Bokuto met Akaashi’s gaze before he scanned his features, as he’d longed to do so many times in the past three years. The roundness in the man’s face had completely hollowed out, leaving high cheekbones and a defined jaw in its place. His nose was impossibly straighter, eyes impossibly sharper, lashes impossibly darker. His hair was cropped short, similar to how it’d been when Bokuto had last seen him, but it seemed to be framing his face tonight, alongside the dull moonlight streaming through the window.

Akaashi Keiji was lovely. Lovely as always. Bokuto swallowed thickly at the realization, the reminder. His throat was suddenly dry. “You look lovely.”

Akaashi offered a small smile. “Thank you.” 

Bokuto returned the expression, but there was a hollowness in his heart. “What happened to us, Akaashi?”

“I don’t know.” Akaashi pulled on his ring finger. Bokuto was slightly surprised to see the nervous habit hadn’t been broken in their time apart. 

“You just… stopped talking to me,” Akaashi said. “It was like you disappeared, and I didn’t know what to do. I’d never had to reach out before in our relationship and I, I got scared.”

“Kuroo told me about what happened the day you hung up on me.” Bokuto’s tone was even.

Akaashi froze.

“‘Kaashi, how was I supposed to be able to call you when I knew I was likely the reason for your literal panic attack?” Bokuto grimaced, balling at the sheets. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared that I’d hurt you again if I said anything.”

“So you didn’t say anything,” Akaashi said softly.

“So I didn’t. But then it was already December, and I thought about how I might not be the first person to wish you a happy birthday, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t help but text you.”

“And then I didn’t respond.”

“And I didn’t know what to do.”

Akaashi nodded, trying to process everything he’d been told.

“I didn’t mean to give up on you, ‘Kaashi. I thought about you every day.” Bokuto’s voice was shaking now, and Akaashi could tell his eyes were glassy. “There were so many times I wanted to text you, or see you, or just hear your voice. I missed you. I missed you so much, Keiji.” 

The way Bokuto said Akaashi’s first name sounded like a question, and it stung.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Akaashi said, sitting up. He leaned in to hug Bokuto. The embrace was awkward at first, the three years having made them both stiff in each other’s arms. But soon the time apart melted away, and it was like Akaashi was seventeen all over again. “I missed you too, Kou.”

“I’m sorry it seemed like I left you behind,” Bokuto said into Akaashi’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I let myself get left behind.” Akaashi let his lips ghost over the shell of Bokuto’s ear. “But I’m not going anywhere this time, if that’s okay with you.”

Bokuto kissed Akaashi as an answer. It was three years later than planned, in the middle of the night with rain pouring down unceremoniously outside, but it felt like the first time, and that was all that mattered. Akaashi’s lips were still impossibly soft. His hair was still smooth as Bokuto carded a hand through it, slow and deliberate. Kissing Akaashi still felt safe.

Some things don’t change.

“That’s more than okay with me, baby.” 

Akaashi flushed at the nickname. 

“I missed making you blush,” Bokuto grinned, adoration tugging at his heart.

Akaashi swatted his arm. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Akaashi said, his face becoming increasingly redder with every word.

Bokuto raised an amused brow at the man’s blush. “Oh, so it’s like _that_ , huh?” He pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s jaw. “Guess I’ll have to make sure my comment holds true.” 

Akaashi laughed in spite of himself, and Bokuto thought it sounded like sunshine.

“Say, Keiji, why _were_ you sleeping in my bed?”

They lay supine on the bed, tucked under the covers.

“Well, first I went to the match. I managed to catch the last set. I was going to say something, but then I figured it’d be better to greet you here.”

“I could have sworn I saw you in the stands, but then I decided I was crazy.”

“You are crazy,” Akaashi said, earning a poke in his side, “but not about that. I had a plan to cook dinner for you. I bought the meat and everything, but then you were out all night, and I got tired.” Akaashi sighed. “I guess it was foolish to assume you would come home after the match, especially since I didn’t exactly warn you that I was coming.”

Bokuto scooted over to rest his head on Akaashi’s bare chest. “S’okay. This is enough.”

“Is it?” Akaashi asked, running a hand through Bokuto’s hair.

Bokuto rolled his eyes. “We’re not doing this again.”

“I’m serious,” Akaashi huffed. “Come on, you know I’m not good with the whole confidence-in-the-relationship thing.” He sounded small.

Bokuto sighed before straddling the man. Leaning forward, he kissed Akaashi—Akaashi, who was beautiful, and kind, and forgiving, and now his again. “Guess I’ll just have to show you how to have faith,” he spoke against his lips.

Akaashi relaxed beneath Bokuto, let the affection pool in his stomach. He seemed pensive. “It’ll always be you,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

“‘It’s you. It’ll always be you,’” Akaashi repeated firmly. “You told me that when I was seventeen, the day you confessed. I couldn’t say it back to you, but I can now.” He kissed Bokuto again. “If I could go rewind six years and tell you it then, I would.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Akaashi frowned.

“I’d still love you the same. I always will.”

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth turned upwards. “I know. But I still wanted to tell you.”

There were so many things he wanted to tell Bokuto. 

That he liked the way Bokuto’s hands were always warm, especially against his own icy ones. That he liked the way Bokuto loved every little thing so unconditionally, from volleyball, to dogs he pet on the street, to Akaashi himself. That he liked the way Bokuto’s hair looked when it was flattened down after a shower, or maybe after a night out in the rain, as it was now. That the feeling that had blossomed in Akaashi’s chest when he was told his tosses were the best felt a lot like love, even if he didn’t recognize it back then. That he’d wanted to kiss Bokuto since he was a first year. That he wished he had on their walks home after almost every summer practice, when the humidity that hung in the air, the buzz of cicadas, and Bokuto’s chattering had felt a lot like home.

Akaashi Keiji was twenty-two, but as nostalgia overwhelmed him, he wished he were younger.

Bokuto pressed a gentle kiss to his collarbone. “Don’t worry, baby. We got all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come through circular ending
> 
> this chapter is so soft
> 
> also catch me shipping kagehina lol. they're so cute :(
> 
> anyways, thank you so, so much for reading! when i first posted this as a one shot, i didn't expect it to really get any hits or kudos at all. it blows my mind when i think about the fact that there are real people who took time out of their real lives to read my cheesy writing. thank you for the sweet comments, too! i hope you've enjoyed reading the story as much as i enjoyed writing it.
> 
> drink water! take care of yourselves. i'm thankful for all of you <3
> 
> ps: now that this is finished maybe i can finally study-study for my statistics final LMAO. let's hope i can finesse an A.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [twitter!](https://mobile.twitter.com/hahahatsuna) in need of more friends!


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